


Dancing in the In-Between

by Alethia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Motels, Mystery, POV Female Character, POV Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-24
Updated: 2005-10-24
Packaged: 2018-01-10 07:03:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You lost?” Ella asked back. They must be; no one stayed here on purpose.</p>
<p>“Oh, I think we’re right where we need to be,” that shorter one said again, still with the <i>smiling</i> and the wandering eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing in the In-Between

**Author's Note:**

> What kinds of situations _do_ they fall into when they’re not hunting? Originally posted on LJ [here](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/155204.html).

Ella had never before been allowed to run the front desk all by herself, her dad figuring she was too young, too easy a target. But maybe being over eighteen did still mean something because he’d changed his tune.

Then again, maybe not having to stay up and watch over a dead motel until the early hours of the morning was too much of an attraction for him. For whatever reason he’d finally—grudgingly—relented, giving her permission. And that was all that mattered. It wasn’t like anything ever happened anyway. Little motels surrounded by farmland were hardly bustling tourist attractions, except during the parade season, of course.

Really, staying open for wayward travelers was just a formality, something to allow Ella to study without her dad questioning why she always had a nose stuck in book.

She shivered, pulling her still-stiff coat tighter around herself, nuzzling into its folds. She didn’t know why it was so cold in here these days. And she could swear that every now and again she’d hear the obscene wet splashes of rain beating against the roof. The only problem was it wasn’t raining—dry as a bone, in fact.

She _really_ needed to stop reading John Grisham novels when taking a break from studying. It was obviously getting to her head.

And she made a mental note to have her dad look at the heater.

But even with the chill it was nice, peaceful in a way she’d missed at college. There, too many people packed into too little space made for chaos. Outdoors was little better— slick pavement and orderly rows of begonias and buttercups…the urban equivalent of wildlife. Sad in a way, but there had to be some better balance than the bustle of that and the stillness of this. Some mixture that wouldn’t overwhelm but that wouldn’t make her question every single splash that sounded just a little too loud for—

The car door slamming was not a little splash and Ella instinctively checked the clock: twelve forty-seven. Her hand strayed to the shotgun under the counter, forever handy for just these situations. Dad had trained her since she was little, shooting Coke cans off fences and she was good, just as good as any of the boys in the area. Her friends at school were shocked that she’d ever even fired a gun and she just rolled her eyes whenever they tooted their own horns, proclaimed they were so worldly and wise.

The grungy, worn-in young man that sauntered in was a far sight better than what she’d expected and her hand relaxed minutely. His friend was more reserved, almost sad, but still held a hint of steel. Oddly enough, though she could _feel_ they were dangerous…she didn’t feel threatened.

Curious, mostly, and when that first man’s eyes finally fixed directly on her—

She flushed, she couldn’t help it, but she did. So stupid, so _childish_ , so not the first impression she’d want to make. He seemed oddly pleased, though, puffing up and pulling out a cocky grin. 

“You boys need some help?” she asked, forcing herself past that _awful_ moment that she was never going to think about again. Ever.

“As a matter of fact, we seem to be in need of a room.”

Ella raised an eyebrow. That was—unusual. Then again, it wasn’t like Dad would object, well, until he found out two startlingly attractive young men had been alone with his daughter at one in the morning.

But, no, he was getting better. Besides, she could always leave off the one in the morning part.

“You lost?” she asked back. They must be; no one stayed here on purpose.

“Oh, I think we’re right where we need to be,” that shorter one said again, still with the _smiling_ and the wandering eyes. 

Just like all the others, then.

“Sure, whatever. You want a double, or what? Maybe a king-size?” she asked, pointed and clipped. 

“Oh, no no no. See, this here’s my brother and while sharing a room has become like second nature, if I had to share a bed with him there’d be bloodshed and I know you don’t want to have to clean that up tomorrow…”

“Gee, thanks.” Ahh, so the other one _did_ talk.

“Well, you’re in luck. We have a double available.”

“Imagine that,” he shot back. She glared at him as he got out his credit card. “I’m Dean, by the way. This is Sam.”

“So long as your credit card goes through, I don’t care if your names are Ren and Stimpy. Sign here. And have a good night.”

***

The sound of the door opening not long after made her eyebrows raise. Again. The taller one—Sam?—walked in, almost sheepish. From the looks of things, that was a common occurrence for him. Well, with a brother with a mouth like that…

Ella fought down the flush. That was so _not_ what she needed to be thinking—

“Miss? I’m sorry about my brother back there. He can rub people the wrong way sometimes. He didn’t mean it.”

She shrugged, still watching him warily. The low lighting cast him in shadows, masking the worn-in look he carried around the edges. “No sweat. I’ve met his type before.”

A twisted little smile that instantly perked her interest crossed his features. “Probably not, but that’s not why I’m here. Would you happen to know if there’s anywhere we could grab some food? We’ve been driving for hours and we ran out of Cracker Jacks and chewing gum about a hundred miles back.” 

Now he was looking at her with these soft eyes and determinedly _not_ fidgeting but looking like he could start _any minute_ and Ella groaned to herself. Yeah, these two were brothers all right. They both carried the whiff of adorableness around with them and it just sucked you right in. The lingering sadness kept you interested, like if you could just look a little deeper maybe you’d finally find it. Whatever it was.

She scooted her chair back and dropped to the floor—surprisingly lightly. Ella cast a quick glance down, but everything seemed okay, so she shrugged it off.

“If you strategically decided to come, rather than your brother, it was a good choice.” Hopefully, that didn’t sound as bitchy as she thought. Probably not considering the assessing look he couldn’t quite cover. Oh, well. It wasn’t like she really cared.

Right.

“Come on. I have the keys to the diner. I’m sure we can find you something to eat.”

***

Two inexpertly microwaved grilled-cheese sandwiches later, she was back at her desk and back in her book—

And really, there was something to be said for no customers, because God, if these weren’t the two most high-maintenance boys she’d ever run across…

“Did you need something else?” she asked, hoping her clenched teeth didn’t make that all garbled. Play nice, she reminded herself. 

Her future would definitely _not_ be in customer service, this she vowed.

The mouthy one this time, flashing her another charming grin. If only that didn’t work quite so well.

Thankfully he closed the door quickly behind him. She was already chill, almost damp, and she didn’t need him letting in any more of it. And manners made up for a little of the forthrightness. A little.

“Yeah, I hate to be a bother, but do you know why the TV’s not working?”

“Storm’s brewing. It always wreaks havoc with the lines. You might try hitting it. Lightly,” she added after a thoughtful pause, the quick shot of him ramming his hand _into_ the TV flashing through her mind. It was kind of pathetic that she thought that might be kind of hot.

“Oh, that’s a shame. Well, since it’s not working, we might as well get to know each other.”

“Uh-huh.” Her hand again went to the shotgun. He wasn’t menacing, not in any way, but it always paid to be sure.

And wasn’t he about as subtle as a freight train?

“So, how long you lived here?” he asked, leaning against the desk and looking for all the world like he was making himself comfortable. Meaning he wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.

She shut her book with an audible snap.

“All my life.”

“Must be nice to have one place to call home like that. Somewhere you can always come back to.” That was—amazingly sincere, like he knew what he was talking about, and Ella looked more closely at him, scrutinizing. 

“I guess,” she finally answered. 

He had really green eyes.

“Me and Sammy, well, we moved around a lot, you see. Never really had one true home.”

“That’s—kind of depressing.”

“Yeah, I’m a regular bundle of joy.” Shaking himself. “Anyway, by the impossibly thick book, I’m betting you’re on break from college. Am I warm?” he asked, God, practically _radiating_ charm.

She let a little of it seep in, banishing the chill that had settled in her bones. “Yeah, I’m working for my dad until I go back.”

Dean quirked his lips oddly at that, like there was something he was _dying_ to say, but couldn’t. “Oh, yeah? Your dad’s not around?”

“You’ll see him in the morning. He lets me take the night shift. It gives me time to read.”

A noncommittal noise. “Bet you don’t see a lot of business during the winter.” What, was he fishing?

“You’re quite unusual.” In more ways than one, especially with all the odd vibes coming off him.

He seemed to like that, smirking like all the cockiest city boys could. “Oh, I know.”

She smiled against her better judgment. Really, it took a lot of nerve to be _that_ arrogant. “So long as we’re ‘getting to know each other,’ what has you out and about so late? And in the middle of nowhere?”

“Oh, you know, little of this, little of that. We came through Bellview, heard there was a place we could stay on our way.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah, it’s the weirdest thing, though. Ever since I’ve been in the area I’ve been having these really strange dreams.”

Ella sat back and looked at him curiously. If this were a pick-up line, it had to be the _worst_ she’d yet encountered. “Really?” she said, her tone indicating _just_ what she thought of it.

“Yeah, it’s the same thing over and over: rainy night, skidding over pavement, car crashing into a telephone pole and then nothing, lights out. Over and over and over. And I’ve never even _been_ in a car crash.”

Ella felt an uncomfortable prickle at the back of her eyes and straightened. “That must be really terrible for you,” she said dully, mind going… _somewhere_ , somewhere that wouldn’t quite form into a thought she could grasp.

“Aw, I’m sure it’ll pass. Anyway, sorry to keep you from your book. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” The sense of the surreal didn’t sweep out the door with him, but the cold wasn’t so kind, creeping in like it was actually trying to conceal its presence. To no avail: its icy fingers reached her neck, giving away the game. Ella sighed and pulled open her book, adjusting her jacket again. She shook away the faint patter on the roof and concentrated. Only an hour or so and then she could sleep.

***

“Hey.”

Ella looked up, nodding at Sam as he gingerly shut the door on the darkness that no light could seem to pierce. She closed her book. It was inevitable; she might as well go with it. “Evening.”

“We didn’t see you all day. I wondered what you were up to.”

And that was—strange. It wasn’t like they were _friends_ or anything. “I work in the town during the day. Not a big deal.”

He nodded, like that was an absolutely _fascinating_ piece of information, all he ever needed to know in life, the answer to the puzzle of the universe. Right.

“It’s nice of you to help out your dad. It must be hard for him without you.” Uh-huh. So _kind_ of him to approve.

She shrugged, letting her irritation freeze and recede, back behind her control. “He gets by. It’s not like there’s so much to do, with a grand total of two customers at the moment.”

Sam smiled. “Well, sometimes things happen when you least expect them.” 

“Not in these parts. I’d say you two are about the most exciting thing to come through in a while. And you’re not that exciting.”

“You don’t think?” he seemed genuinely amused, like it was some private joke that only he knew. They both did that. A lot. Kind of annoying, that.

“Unless you’ve stashed a body in your trunk, no.” At his off look, she carried on: “You—don’t have a body in your trunk, do you?”

His laugh came out of nowhere, full and deep, like he hadn’t done that in a while. It drew a small smile from Ella, but she couldn’t help but think that was an odd reaction to have at what had been a pale joke, at best.

“No, no. Not today anyway,” he held up his hands, placating, just a joke, of course. Ha. She smiled again and shook her head. Man, these guys were weird.

Dean barged through the door like a shot; Ella jumped in her seat and the room was suddenly frigid, like its own personal snowstorm had taken up residence. She shivered into her jacket and watched Dean’s face go from worried to annoyed. He had the most amazing ability to command a room like it was his, like he _belonged_. Presence, that was it.

“There you are. I’ve been looking all over, man.”

“Where else would I be?” Sam shot back, and was that an undercurrent of irritation? Ella eyed the two closely, as Sam looked at Dean and they seemed to communicate without saying a word. The intensity made her shiver, dampness curling down her spine, but their contest was done in an instant, replaced with an easy camaraderie that would seem wholly organic if she hadn’t seen the other.

Dean turned to her, light winking on his necklace. “I’m sorry, is my baby brother harassing you? He never knows when to leave well enough alone.”

“Dude, standing right here.”

“I can see you. I just can’t quite believe it.” That irritation was back and what? Was this a challenge? Did either of them think they’d be _getting_ anything here? Because that so wouldn’t be happening.

“Um, why not?” she interjected, bringing their attention back to her.

“Dean’s a little annoyed with me,” he said almost conspiratorially, despite that Dean was _right there_. “I wanted to stay for a bit, see the town.” 

“You mean the three shops and infinite rows of corn?” she asked, voice flat, pointy, and _sharp_. She’d learned a few things at college and dealing with guys was the very first.

“Well, the cook at the diner makes really good pancakes.” As if that explained everything. Dean rolled his eyes, like he was disappointed that Sam hadn’t even bothered to make up a _good_ reason. His posture said he would have had an excuse—crop circles, little green men, a not-wholly-appropriate fascination with _corn_.

Their private arguments were probably _highly_ entertaining, all flinging insults and bitchy rejoinders.

“No, really, have you ever had them?” Sam pressed.

“What, the pancakes?”

“Yeah. They’re great.” Um, okay.

Ella shook her head at the bizarreness. “It’s been awhile,” she admitted.

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Dean said, butting in. “So, what did you have for breakfast this morning?”

Ella frowned, saw Sam do the same thing…and what the heck kind of question was that? “Um…”

She thought. What did she have this morning? It wasn’t that long ago. How could she have forgotten?

“Can’t remember?” Sam asked, not unkindly. 

“It must have slipped my mind.”

Dean rolled his eyes again. “Oh, yeah, what’d you have for lunch? Afternoon snack? Did you sell anything at your store today?”

Ella shook her head, fighting the images that were too fast and all blurry. What was going _on_? “I’m sorry. I think you should go.”

“It’s okay, Ella. You don’t have to fight it anymore,” Sam said, leaning against the counter, eyes soft and concerned.

She had the distinct feeling she was doing the fish-out-of-water face. Since it was the only thing making sense, embarrassment burning cold in her face, she grabbed on to it. “Fight what?”

“Reality. Which your soul hasn’t quite caught up with yet.” Sam flashed his brother an annoyed look and Dean just looked pointedly back, like he thought this was all a waste of time.

But what was this?

God, she was _freezing_. “I don’t think I know what you mean.”

“You’re wearing the same clothes, Ella. Ever wonder why?” Dean asked again, and a thrumming pressure started at the base of her skull.

“Am I? I—didn’t notice.”

“I bet you don’t notice a lot of things. How long have you been reading the same book? What year is it?”

“I haven’t read this before. It’s—1995. Why are you asking me all these questions?” If she didn’t know better she’d swear someone had turned on the air conditioner full blast. And she was standing under it. Doused with water. In a bathing suit. 

But that was stupid. It was cold outside. And she was here, dry as the grass in the dead of summer.

“It’s 2005. And you’re dead.”

Ella stood still, shivers coming more frequently now. She could feel the water trailing down her arms, could feel the pounding of the rain. But—there was no rain. Right?

“Very funny, guys. Big laugh. You practicing your practical jokes?”

Sam slid a paper over to her, and instantly Ella tensed. She could see her picture on the cover, under a bold headline declaring a “Tragic Highway Accident.” Her hand trembled as she reached out—and passed right through it.

“What the—”

“It happens sometimes, when a spirit doesn’t know it’s dead. Your body stayed in the car, but you kept right on going. Back to your dad’s and your winter job and studying for school,” Sam said, almost…caring?

“But—”

“And you’ve been a good worker bee, staying up all night in here, the haunted motel. You should hear people talk about you,” Dean stated, obviously not pleased and wholly willing to show it.

“Bellview,” she said shakily, guessing.

Sam nodded. “We were just passing through, heard the stories. Stopped to take a look.”

“Yeah, and it’s not really our thing so if you could hurry it up and cross on over, that’d be great.” Dean said.

Ella laughed, absurdly. “This is—you looked annoyed, when you were here. Not that exciting for you?”

He shrugged, almost remorseful, and Ella laughed again. “Dead? This isn’t a joke?” She tried to pick up the paper again, but again, her hand passed right through it. She could see it, but couldn’t really touch anything. The cold had seeped all the way through her, and she’d swear her hand was turning blue.

“I had to help my dad.”

“Your dad moved on, just after your accident. No one’s run this place since.”

“Which would be why there’s no TV,” Dean put in. “Not to mention no lights.”

“What? There are—” Just at that moment, there was a crackle and they were drenched in darkness.

“Listen, Ella, you were fueling the lights.” She couldn’t see Sam, but he was still close. “If you expect them to be on, then they will be.” Ella closed her eyes and willed it so. The brightness shone through her eyelids and she opened them carefully, afraid of what she’d see. But yes, everything was just as it had been.

“I don’t—that’s why I’m cold?” she asked. 

“It was raining the night of your accident. You died alone, trapped in your car, and bleeding as the rain trickled through the smashed window. It said in the coroner’s report that it’d probably taken a while. You knew what was happening, could feel the water as it trickled down, unable to move. It must have been horrible,” Sam said, sounding awfully sad considering she didn’t know him _at all_.

But his words rang true to her, and all over again she could feel the pain of broken bones and a mangled hand, could remember crying for someone, anyone, with only silence and the unrelenting, pounding rain as her answer.

She shivered again, her vision blurring.

“But here’s the good part: all you have to do is let it go. Let go of your dad and your school and this motel, and everything will be fine again. Just release it all and you’ll find peace.” Sam’s voice was almost trancelike, slow and persuasive and Ella found herself nodding, closing her eyes again as the world seemed to elongate, blur into an incoherent mess of sound and color, movement and feeling. And then it was gone.

***

**Epilogue**

“You’re such a sucker for lost causes, you know that, right?” Dean asked as he stalked out of the motel, shaking his head.

Sam just rolled his eyes and followed. “And you’re an unfeeling snob. If it’s not killing people then, God, it’s just not _good enough_ for you.”

“I am not a snob!” Dean said hotly, climbing into the car with a huff that made Sam think of five-year-olds and temper tantrums. “I’m just saying our time is better spent on things that are hurting people, rather than this podunk town’s personal ghost story.”

“And I thought you wanted to help people,” Sam said, knowing how to push Dean’s buttons and smiling to himself.

“I _do_! Living people! People who have blood running through their veins and who can properly reward me upon completion of my heroic duties,” he shot back, smirking like only he could.

“Uh-huh. Real giver, that’s you.”

“Well. I do try. When you’re not taking us off on some ghost-quest of your own, anyway.”

“Oh, shut up. It’s not like we have anything better to do, not until we find another target. Besides, it’s on the way.”

“Yeah, yeah. If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were trying to bore me to death.” 

“Give me time.”

“Ha.” He tossed Sam a few newspapers he’d picked up, one hand lazily gripping the steering wheel. “So why don’t you make yourself useful and find us that target, huh?” he asked, grinning over at Sam, eyes alight.

“Yeah. Whatever.”

Dean sighed dramatically. “Ah, music to my ears.”

Sam threw a paper back at him. And laughed.

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


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